


Irreplaceable. Cherished.

by arihime



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25900444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arihime/pseuds/arihime
Summary: “I have told you before that you are irreplaceable to me. Cherished,” Dimitri starts. “Sometimes, I don’t. . . I don’t think you understand exactly what that means.”Dedue understands.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 10
Kudos: 71





	Irreplaceable. Cherished.

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as me indulging one of my favorite tropes, and then soft boys decided to be soft, and it spiraled down into a love confession. Not that I'm complaining. Lol
> 
> Big thanks to Abby for betaing.

Dedue awakens all at once, a soldier’s alertness propelling his mind from darkness to light in less time than it takes for him to blink his eyes open. It takes him longer to place the stone ceiling hovering above him, long enough that the stone melts into the dark canvas of a tent. He hears a fire roaring on his left, a person moving. He starts to turn his head towards the noise, but finds that he cannot move. His body is locked in place, as unyielding as stone. No part of it will answer his call, not the tiniest flex of his fingers nor a small twitch of his shoulders. He is trapped within his own body once more, and he cannot—

“Dedue.”

His Highness’ deep voice settles over Dedue, washing the nightmare away like mud from a riverbank. The ceiling hardens from canvas to stone again—the stone ceiling of the monastery infirmary—and it takes nothing at all for Dedue to turn his head.

His Highness is seated by Dedue’s bedside, dressed in his armor but without his cape, mantle, and gauntlets. Dedue drinks in the sight of him, noting with no small amount of relief that His Highness looks hale and whole, if a bit haggard.

“You’re awake,” His Highness says. No, it’s more of a breath than anything. He straightens from where he had been hunched over before.

“Your Highness—” Dedue starts, but the rest of his words are cut off when His Highness stands.

“I will get Mercedes,” he announces. Then leaves Dedue to stare at his retreating back.

Dedue blinks at the door as it closes, frowning at the abruptness. He does not doubt that he needs to be looked at by a healer, but part of him had been hoping His Highness would stay a while longer.

He takes stock of his body while he waits, first by wiggling his toes under the blanket. The relief Dedue feels when they move on his command is profound, and he starts to relax back into the blankets before he remembers that he is not finished with his checks. He moves up his body slowly, testing his legs, his arms, his fingers. All move at his command, freely if not a bit sore. His right side in particular throbs in time with his pulse, and his skin feels itchy against the bandages.

Dedue welcomes the discomfort. Any sensation—even pain— is better than no feeling at all. Though he survived the campaign to free His Highness from the dungeons in Fhirdiad, the attempt left Dedue partially paralyzed. He still has nightmares about it, sometimes, waking up to a body that will not answer him no matter how hard he tries. He spent five years relearning his limbs, how to walk, how to fight.

Five years away from Dimitri.

Dedue jerks back to the present when he hears the door open. Mercedes walks in and smiles when she sees him. His Highness follows behind her, hovering by the door while Mercedes takes the seat by Dedue’s bedside.

“Dedue. It’s good to see you awake,” she says, voice soft. “Do you remember what happened?”

“Yes.” A mage among the imperial forces, hidden until the battle came to a lull. Dedue had spotted him an instant before he fired off a spell, and there had been no time to do anything other than throw himself between the mage and His Highness’ unprotected back. He remembers the pain of the spell tearing through him, then darkness.

Mercedes seems to be waiting for more, so he adds, “I took a spell from a mage.”

She nods. “Yes, and you had everyone rather worried for you. You’ve been asleep for two days.”

Two days. Not an insignificant number, in truth—any time spent unconscious is cause for worry, as Professor Manuela taught them long ago—but not nearly as much as the month Dedue spent asleep following the escape from Fhirdiad.

Dedue lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“You are here for an examination,” Dedue says, pulling himself up against the pillow. Instantly, Mercedes reaches out to help him.

“And to check up on my friend,” she says. “Like I said, everyone was worried about you.”

“I am fine,” Dedue says, the words almost instinctive.

“Well, let me be the judge of that, won’t you?” Mercedes reaches for the edge of the blanket covering Dedue, only lifting it after he nods.

The examination is routine, but extensive. Though the spell hit Dedue in the side, Mercedes insists on checking all of him over with a healer’s critical eye. His Highness makes no move to leave during the examination, nor do Mercedes or Dedue ask him to. He simply stays by the door, gaze trained on the floor while Mercedes works. Sometimes, Dedue thinks he can feel His Highness’ blue eye on him, but try though he might, Dedue cannot catch his gaze.

“You’ve recovered very well,” Mercedes says when she is done replacing the bandages on Dedue’s side. “This’ll probably be sore for a few days, but after that you’ll be right as rain. But you should probably stay in bed for another day at least.” The last part is added when Dedue opens his mouth.

He frowns.

“The spell that hit you was dark magic,” Mercedes explains. “We still don’t know a lot about it, so it’s better for you to rest for a few extra days in case some odd side effects appear, don’t you think?”

Reluctantly, Dedue nods. Though he is loath to stay in bed for longer than he has to, he does not doubt the wisdom of Mercedes’ words. He knows well that impatience can lead to setbacks in recovery, and he has no desire to experience that again.

Besides, he also knows that Mercedes is asking as a courtesy. If she wants Dedue to stay in bed for a few more days, then Dedue is going to stay in bed no matter what he wants.

Healers, Dedue has learned, can be very persuasive against unruly patients.

Mercedes smiles. “Good.” She packs up her medical tools and stands.

“I’ll bring you some food. You’re probably hungry after waking up. And some for you too, Dimitri.” She adds the last part as she passes His Highness, still hovering by the door, still not looking at Dedue even when the door closes behind her.

He stays there even as the silence between them stretches into minutes, until finally Dedue clears his throat.

“Your Highness,” he starts. “Perhaps you should sit down?”

Dedue gestures to the chair Mercedes vacated, ignoring the slight twinge in his side as he does so.

His Highness looks up slowly, and for a moment, Dedue thinks he will ignore the request. Then His Highness moves, each step stiff and half-halting. The chair creaks as His Highness settles into it, protesting the weight of both man and armor.

Silence settles over them again, thick and oppressive. There is something unspeakably sad in the hunch of His Highness’ shoulders, in the way he refuses to meet Dedue’s gaze. Despite his physical proximity, he feels distant.

“Your Highness,” Dedue starts again, hoping to bridge the gap between them.

“Why did you do it?” His Highness asks at the same time.

Dedue blinks at him.

“Why did you do it?” His Highness repeats, more insistent.

For a moment, Dedue does not understand the question. When he does understand, he is at a loss for a response. Surely, it should be obvious why he protected His Highness.

“Why?” His Highness asks again.

“I am your vassal,” Dedue says. “It is my duty to—”

“No,” His Highness growls, standing from the chair. “No, it is not your duty to be my shield, nor is it your duty to die for me. Did I not tell you not to throw your life away again?” He is yelling by the end of it, hands balled into fists, knuckles white with the strain.

Dedue blinks, trying to remember the last time His Highness ever well and truly yelled at him.

He comes up empty.

“Protecting you is not throwing my life away,” Dedue says slowly. “Protecting you from the mage—freeing you from the dungeons in Fhirdiad—those are things I did freely. If I should die protecting you, Your Highness, then I would consider it a good death.”

“ _No,_ ” Dimitri hisses, shaking his head. “No, I won’t allow it. You can’t—you shouldn’t—I am not _worth_ your life.”

“You are.” Of this, Dedue is certain, but still His Highness will not back down. He opens his mouth, but Dedue cuts him off. “If you are proud of the scars you received protecting me when we first met, then why should I not be proud of the wounds I receive protecting you?”

Because that’s what they are, really. Wounds, and nothing more, for this time and all the times before that. Scars to be proud of, all signs that Dedue has seen death, and lived to fight another day.

“I am fine, Dimitri.”

Dedue forms the syllables carefully, lingering over the last ‘i’ sound. As each leaves his mouth, Dimitri jolts, anger rapidly draining from his face. 

For years, Dedue has purposefully held himself distant from Dimitri, being careful with his words and his thoughts, always keeping the carefully constructed barrier between lord and vassal, no matter how much Dimitri himself has pushed back on it. But this, Dedue realizes, is not a conversation between lord and vassal.

And Dimitri. . .

Dimitri deflates, crumpling into the chair and burying his face in his hands. He takes a long, shuddering breath.

“Thank the Goddess, you are alright,” Dimitri says. “But for a moment, I thought. . . I feared. . .”

Dedue had feared as well when he thought he wouldn’t be able to move fast enough. Being struck with the spell had almost been a relief, because he’d known that Dimitri would be safe.

Dedue doesn’t tell Dimitri this, though. He doesn’t think Dimitri would welcome the knowledge, no matter how true it is.

“I am fine,” Dedue says instead. “You heard Mercedes: I will be right as rain within a few days.”

“Yes.” Dimitri sighs. He glances up at Dedue, something fragile in his eye. “I am glad to see you are well. More than glad, really. I. . .”

He trials off, and Dedue waits. It takes a good few moments for Dimitri to find what he needs to say, but when he does, his whole posture changes. He straightens in his seat, eye focusing on Dedue, and Dedue finds his body reacting without a conscious thought, sitting up a little higher against the pillows.

“I have told you before that you are irreplaceable to me. Cherished,” Dimitri starts. “Sometimes, I don’t. . . I don’t think you understand exactly what that means.”

Dedue understands. He recognizes the fragile thing in Dimitri’s eye, and in the rapid beating of his own heart. But no matter how much Dedue wants to acknowledge those feelings, he is not ignorant of the war going on. What good would it be to make that declaration, when everything could be torn away in an instant?

(When, even after the war, Dedue knows that whatever feelings they have cannot last in the face of their differing positions.)

“Dimitri—”

“Please, I—” Another sigh. Dimitri glances down at where his hands are clenched in his lap. “These feelings of mine. . . I don’t expect you to feel the same way. But sitting here, waiting for you to wake up, made me realize that I have to voice them while I still have the chance.”

Something is happening here, Dedue realizes. Something is going to happen that can never be taken back. Part of Dedue knows that he should put an end to this, keep Dimitri—His Highness—from baring his heart in a way that could destroy both of them.

The other part, the part that aches and yearns, binds the rational part of him in place and waits, his heart pounding with anticipation.

“I love you, Dedue,” Dimitri says quietly. Bashfully, even. “To see you unconscious on the ground like that, it almost broke me. So please, I beg of you to be more careful next time. To look after yourself. You’ve died for me once before—” and here Dimitri’s voice breaks “—I couldn’t bear it if I lost you again.”

The confession hangs in the air, warming the room around them. Dedue feels something inside him rise up to answer, something warm and light. Slowly, he reaches out, tugging at Dimitri’s hands until they unfurl. Dedue slots his hands into Dimitri’s, entwining their fingers. Dimitri’s fingers are cracked and calloused and scared, and Dedue revels in the feeling of that roughness against his skin.

“Dedue?” Dimitri breaths, something like hope alighting in his eye.

“You are not. . . alone in your feelings,” Dedue says slowly. “I care about you as well, Dimitri. I—” No. _Care_ is not the right word to describe the feelings that Dedue holds for Dimitri-- is completely inadequate to describe the fear Dedue felt when he learned that Dimitri would be executed; the joy drowned by despair upon Dimitri’s rescue, knowing he was safe even though Dedue’s life would be forfeited in the process. The elation that he felt upon being reunited with Dimitri at the Great Bridge of Myrddin, and then again when Dimitri broke from his cocoon of darkness and came out into the world a better man.

“I love you too, Dimitri,” Dedue declares. The words feel right, but there is something missing. He repeats the declaration again, this time in the language of Duscur, and that—that feels like completion.

Dimitri gapes at him, a blush rising from his cheeks to the roots of his hair. His eye is wide and disbelieving. He tugs a hand free of Dedue’s and presses it against his face.

“Dimitri?” Dedue asks, a sudden fear rising within him. He starts to let go of Dimitri’s other hand, but Dimitri tightens his grip.

“Forgive me,” Dimitri says, voice muffled by his hand. When he pulls it down, Dedue is surprised to see tears in Dimitri’s eye. “I just—I’m happy, Dedue. I’m so very happy.”

Dedue chuckles. He settles his palm against Dimitri’s cheek, wiping the tears away with his thumb.

“I am happy as well,” Dedue says. Happy, and perhaps a bit nervous as to what will happen now that their feelings are out in the open. But that is a matter for a different time. For now, Dimitri leans down, and Dedue rises up. Their lips meet in the middle, soft and tentative. They pull back, both blinking at each other owlishly, then lean back in as one.

By the time Mercedes returns with food, both their lips are red and swollen, their hands intertwined over the covers of Dedue’s bed. 


End file.
